


In The Bleak Midwinter

by WarBondsAndSimpleSongs



Series: The Possibility of Happiness [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet, Children, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Discussions of Canon Character Death (Fred Weasley), Discussions of Canon Traumas, Emotional, Family, Holiday, Mild canon divergence, Multi, Not Entirely Epilogue Compliant, Parents, Past Harry/Ginny - Freeform, Past Ron/Hermione - Freeform, Polyamory, wonky timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarBondsAndSimpleSongs/pseuds/WarBondsAndSimpleSongs
Summary: This is a short Christmas story set after the events of ‘The Possibility of Happiness’. This story contains minor spoilers for the main series, but would be considered spoiler free after Chapter 12 of ‘The Possibility of Happiness’. It also briefly remixes small pieces of “Chapter 16: Godric's Hollow” from ‘Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows’ at the end.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Dean Thomas, Harry Potter/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum, Neville Longbottom/Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom/Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom/Ron Weasley, Parvati Patil/Ginny Weasley (Mentioned), Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter (mentioned), Seamus Finnigan & Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter & Dean Thomas & Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan/Harry Potter, Seamus Finnigan/Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan/Ron Weasley
Series: The Possibility of Happiness [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/512548
Kudos: 10





	In The Bleak Midwinter

_In the bleak midwinter frosty winds made moan._

_Earth stood hard as iron. Water like a stone._

_Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow on snow,_

_In the bleak midwinter, long, long ago._

* * *

The hot steam from the cooling sugar cookies crept up over the kitchen windows, casting the kitchen in a diffuse glowing light. Dean slammed the oven door closed with great sigh of relief and placed the last sheet of cookies on the counter to cool. Fifty dozen, all baked by hand.

He considered icing them by magic. Six-hundred and fifty cookies was a bit much to do entirely alone. Like every year before, he compromised. He’d charm decorate them, but do all the packing by hand. That felt more personal anyway.

He cracked open one of the steamy windows and let the crisp, winter air in. The cold was sharp, but welcome, and reminded him he had been wearing nothing but boxer shorts and an apron since the twentieth batch had gone in just before noon.

He tossed the apron on the counter and hopped up the stairs two at a time, grateful none of his partners were home to laugh at the view. He threw open the bedroom door and went over to the enormous wardrobe the five men shared. They had organized it to mirror their bed. Seamus’s clothes had space at the far left side, but they mostly tended to end up scattered around the room. Dean's space was to the immediate right of Seamus's, but when he opened the wardrobe he couldn’t find any of his good jumpers.

He pulled out a pair of loose fitting trousers and dug around in a drawer until he found his favourite old shirt. It had a large print of Al Green laughing. It was an iconic picture from his Full of Fire album and Dean's mother had bought it for him as a gift because the picture reminded her of him.

He searched the floor and managed to find a couple of his jumpers stashed in various piles of Seamus's clothes and one in with Ron’s laundry. Giving up, he turned back to the wardrobe and started flipping through Neville and Ron's sections. They were the only ones that could feasibly have clothes that might him and, even then, Neville wasn’t a guarantee.

He was pleasantly surprised when he pulled a thick scarlet jumper from Neville’s drawer and slid it over his head. It didn’t quite fit, but instead of being tight like he expected it was comfortably oversized. He looked down at the large, golden N stitched onto the chest and adjusted the bottom, exposing the small greenish-gold toad embroidered near the side hem. It was the first sweater Molly had made for Neville. Dean tucked his face inside the collar and inhaled the smell of cedar and earth that always clung around Nev.

Feeling calmed and cozy, he made his way back downstairs and set himself up next to a monstrous pile of cookie tins at the table. He flicked his wand at the cookies and they began the process of icing. As each sheet finished, it floated across the room to land in front of him at the table where he began the long process of packaging the cookies for delivery.

He had done this every year since leaving Hogwarts. It was his own, private tradition. Even when it had just been Seamus and him, he waited until there was a day Seamus was out before he’d tuck into the work. It was easier then with so few batches. Only a few dozen for each of their parents and siblings. As their immediate family grew, the order increased almost tenfold overnight. Weasley households alone accounted for twelve dozen of the cookies. This year he had cut the cookies into the shape of small, soon to be frosted, Christmas trees. Dean loved Christmas trees.

When he had been on the run during his seventh year, he was lucky enough to find shelter under an enormous evergreen on the outskirts of a muggle village. He set up his makeshift camp site and dug into a burger he had managed to snag from a diner earlier that day. As he lay there, shivering through his hoodie and muggle sleeping bag, he thought of Seamus and how alone and scared he must be. He hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye. He lay there, sobbing in his sleeping bag, stifling the noise with his pillow. It was Christmas Eve, and he was all alone.

He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until a few hours later when he was awoken by a soft hooting near his tent. He grabbed his wand and muttered several warming charms and unzipped a small amount of the tent door so he could peek out.

The snowy forest was lit brightly by the large silvery full moon above him. The entire forest seemed to shimmer with the freshly fallen snow. Even Dean's tracks had vanished in the few hours since he had set the camp up. It looked to Dean like thecover of his mother's _Christmas with Julie_ record that she played every year. It didn’t feel like Christmas in their house until Dean could hear his mother softly singing along to Julie Andrews. Once Seamus had invited Dean to spend Christmas with him at home in Ireland. They had secretly shared Seamus's bed and, as they lay in each other’s arms Christmas Eve, Dean had sung the song softly to Seamus.

“I wonder as I wander out under the sky...” Dean sang softly to himself, feeling goose pimples start to ripple across his skin at the memory of Seamus curled up in his arms, humming along after he had picked up the melody.

The owl hooted again, closer this time. The branches of the evergreen hung low around the tent, with the snow this high Dean would have to crouch to get out from under the tree in the morning. He unzipped the tent flap a bit more and there was a soft hooting and the rustle of wings above him.

Dean unzipped the door and held it open as a smallish grey mass swooped past him. He turned to see a grey and brown dappled owl sitting on the end of his sleeping bag and eyeing him curiously. It had a large yellow eyes and a couple small tuft on top of its head that looked almost like ears.

“Hi there.” Dean spoke very softly and held out his hands to the owl, palms up.”You okay girl?”

The owl nipped lightly at his fingers.

“Sorry, boy?”

The owl shifted a little and turned its head to eye Dean.

“You hungry?”

The owl turned its head upright and blinked slowly.

Dean rummaged around in the dark and found the burger packet from his supper. He pulled out a couple small chunks of burger and several small pieces of fries which he offered the owl. The bird ate them gratefully.

Dean reached out his free hand and stroked the soft feathers on the owl's head; it must be fairly young to be so small and have such soft feathers.

“You alone?”

The owl nudged his hand slightly with its head as it finished eating.

“Me too.” Dean said sadly, “My best friend-“ he choked up as he felt the name coming out, spoken aloud for the first time in weeks. “Seamus is alone and I can’t even let him know I’m alright.” Dean felt hot tears as they fell warm and heavy down his cheeks.

The owl hopped closer until it was standing on his upper thigh and staring calmly at him. Dean raised a hand to wipe his face and the bird suddenly stretched out its neck and gave his hand a gentle and affectionate bite.

Dean laughed softly and sniffled. “You remind me of my friend Harry's owl, Hedwig. She does that to him too.”

The owl nibbled at his finger and nudged it head gently against his hand until Dean was holding the owl warmly in his lap.

“Would- would you like a name?” Dean finally asked quietly.

The owl hooted softly and rustled his feathers.

Dean scrunched his face and was quiet for a long moment. “Andrew.” He finally said and the owl hooted and nuzzled into his chest.

They lay like that for awhile, each content in the company of a new friend, before Dean finally fell into a deep and worry free sleep.

On Christmas morning, Dean went into the village before dawn and nicked some food and supplies from a local supermarket. He never could bring himself to steal from small businesses when he was in a pinch. He returned to the tent to find Andrew resting in the branches above the door. He unzipped it and climbed, leaving it open enough for the owl to hop inside after him.

“Andrew, I have a job for you.”

The owl hooted suspiciously.

“You won’t be able to stay with me, it would put both of us in danger, but I’m going to make sure we can find each other again and that your well taken care of until all this is over.” Dean sighed heavily and pulled out a small, torn piece of paper. “I need you to take this to Seamus Finnigan at Hogwarts. He’s a seventh year Gryffindor. He will be able to help you."

Dean could feel himself welling up and he wiped at his eyes.

Andrew tiled his head and blinked curiously.

“I love him, and if I live through all of this I’m going to marry him.” Dean answered. “I just want him to know that.”

The owl hooted seriously and offered one of its taloned feet. Dean handed over the letter.

“Go to the seventh year Gryffindor boys window it will be better if this is all kept as secret as possible.” He reached out and picked up the tiny owl and hugged it to his chest. “Thank you, Andrew.” He could feel his tears spill over onto soft feathers.

He set the owl down. Andrew looked into Dean’s eyes, hooted soothingly, and then was gone.

Dean shook his head and finished tying the parcel in front of him, checking names off the list as he went.

The sheets of frosted tree cookies gradually made their way to the table and Dean carefully wrapped each set and prepared them to be given to all of their family and friends. Each year he would chuckle as he got further and further down the growing list, realizing how unexpected his life had become. He wished he could go back in time to that year and tell his younger self about all of this. Maybe the cold and lonely nights would havegone by easier. Maybe he wouldn’t have felt so alone.

After he finished wrapping the last of the packages, he tore a small piece off of their roll of plain brown parcel paper. He pulled out his pencil and scrawled the cramped, well practiced note. He whistled out the backdoor and smiled as Andrew appeared, a little greyer than he had been all that first Christmas, but no worse for the wear. Dean grabbed a package and slipped the note inside before passing it to Andrew. The owl hooted happily and took off, knowing exactly where to go.

It had been their tradition for seventeen years. No matter where they were, or how far apart they were, every Christmas Seamus would find a small note, scrawled on a torn piece of paper. He kept all of them in a small box in their room as a reminder. Dean's message was always the same:

_I love you_

_marry me_

* * *

Seamus and Neville apparated into London together, Neville’s hand gripping Seamus's arm tightly. They landed in an alley that Seamus had found shortly after he got his job at St. Mungo's and he had used it ever since. Seamus turned and looked him up and down, adjusting the lapel on his blazer and dusting off the jumper underneath it.

“I love this colour. Very..."

"Purple?" Neville offered.

"Regal." Seamus smiled. "Like a Russian prince. It brings out the best colours in your eyes." He had helped Neville pick out the jumper before they left the house. He knew how much it meant to Neville to make an impression today. He stepped back and offered Neville his arm.

They walked arm in arm in comfortable silence the remaining distance to the front of the hospital. Seamus had learned over the years that today wasn’t a day to try and distract his partner from any feelings of sadness and anxiety, so he had resolved himself to be a stoic and steadfast companion throughout the day.

They had done it this way every year since they had all joined together. This would be the fourteenth time he had accompanied Neville on his long walk.

They turned the last corner and they were greeted by the sight of a tall thin woman in midnight blue tweed suiting. She appeared to be wearing an entire peacock on her head. Luckily, she was ten or so metres away and facing away from them.

They froze. Seamus laced his fingers through Neville's and squeezed hard. Neville closed his eyes, breathed deep, and started walking.

“Gran.”

The woman turned around, revealing that she was, indeed, wearing a full peacock on top of a matching boater hat in midnight blue tweed.

Augusta Longbottom hadn’t changed much in the seventeen years since the end of the war, but Seamus's opinions of her certainly had. The more aquatinted they became, and the more he learned about her from Neville, the more she became a kind of hero to Seamus. One visit she’d mention being a spy during the war with Grindelwald, the next she'd mention her palatial flat in Paris.

The only person who seemed to share Seamus's admiration for her particular brand of crazy was Parvati. After one run-in at a hospital benefit luncheon, she pulled Seamus aside to breathlessly tell him that those old jackets and dresses Augusta always wore were actually vintage Chanel. After another, Parvati actually had to stop and compose herself before revealing that the stiff, bright red bag Augusta always carried was an original Hermès Kelly bag. When she had caught Parvati gawping at it she had replied, “I’m a witch, not a philistine.”

“Gold. 32cm. Box leather. She's my hero.” Parvati had concluded breathlessly.

None of it meant that much to Seamus, but he could tell that Augusta Longbottom was not a woman to be fucked with.

She was the gay icon he never knew he needed.

Seamus gently let go of His hand as Neville stepped forward to kiss her cheek.

"How are you?" Neville smiled at her.

“Fine, dear, how are you?"

He nodded. “Alright. It's quiet at the house this year. James decided to stay at Hogwarts late, he’ll be flooing home tomorrow morning. And Albus has gone skiing with his friend on the continent and won’t be back until the 28th.”

"France?”

“Austria.”

"France is better." She turned to Seamus expectantly.

"Augusta." Seamus leaned in and gave her a polite kiss on the cheek. “You look gorgeous today."

“And yesterday, and the day before. I need something to keep me occupied.” She shot him an imperious look and he smiled.

"I'm sure it keeps you occupied." Seamus was the only one who was able to play this game with her. Trading barbs was a sport she had long practiced, and she was secretly glad to have an eager and worthy pupil.

“Then what have you been busy doing?" She gave him a withering once over and a quick wink.

He was just about to respond when they heard the distant toll of nine on Big Ben.

“It’s time.” Neville said softly, holding out his arm for her. She adjusted her hat and hitched her red bag up into the crook of her right arm as she took a firm hold of her grandson with her left.

Seamus squeezed Neville’s shoulder. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Neville took a deep breath and stepped forward into the broken display window of Purge and Dowse, Ltd.

The lobby of St. Mungo's was quiet, only a couple witches and wizards waiting patiently and one of them showing any signs of maiming or spell damage. The hospital was done up in their typical festive decorations. Holly hung over every doorway, enchanted icicles hung from arches and window panes, all shared or public rooms held at least one sparkling Christmas tree, and the whole thing was cast in the soft golden glow of the hospitals holiday lighting.

Seamus stepped forward quickly before Neville and his grandmother headed off, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tight.

“I’ll be in my office most of the day if you need me. I’ll come check in around lunch?”

Neville nodded.

“I love you.”

Neville turned to him with sad, tired eyes and smiled gently.

"I love you too."

"I know." Seamus grinned and popped up on his tip toes, stealing a brief but meaningful kiss.

Neville relaxed a little and nodded his head. “Ready, Gran?"

She nodded and they set off together toward the stairs.

Seamus sighed deeply and made his way past the reception desk to the staff lift.

“Seventh floor.” He said.

The lift doors shut and he felt the light tug as the lift began to levitate steadily upwards towards his office. Seamus leaned back against the marble walland pressed his head against the cool stone. This day was never easy for Neville, but Seamus was feeling it more than usual this visit.

“Seventh Floor: Specialty Magic Offices & Rehabilitation” the lift chimed.

The doors slid open and Seamus stepped out into a large open reception area full of plush chairs and couches. On the right was a window that stretched from the floor to the crown molding on the eighteen foot ceilings, and the entire length of the room. On his left was a large wrap around wooden desk parallel to a wide hallway which branched off into several offices and treatment rooms. Over the desk was a large, gold sign that read _The Remus Lupin Rehabilitation Centre._

"Morning, Midge.”

A young, dark haired witch looked up from her book and smiled at him. She had a bright, open face, and tended to favour large and brightly coloured glasses.

“Good morning, Mr. Finnigan.”

“What time-“

“Ten. Paul for a check-in and refill.”

“Tall Paul or-“

“Regular sized Paul.”

“Ah.”

She smiled. “I’ll get the coffee.”

When Hermione had first announced the ministry's plans to add two additional wings to St. Mungo’s, Seamus had practically begged the board of directors to give him free reign when building, designing, and staffing the centre. He had already been working as a healer for twelve years and had come to be known as the expert in rehabilitative treatment. It had taken some pushing, but finally the recommendation of the newly elected Minister for Magic clinched it for him. He had never been more grateful for Hermione. Midge was the first person he had hired. Before any other healers, decorators, or assistants there was Midge. She had interned in Hermione's office and had made an extremely good impression. She was whip smart, organized, hardworking, and compassionate. She reminded all of them of a younger Hermione, although it turned out Midge had an off the wall sense of humour that surprised them all. Seamus loved her instantly.

Seamus turned down the hall and walked to the office at the end. His office had a large set of double doors that he kept open unless he was with patients or in meetings. The wall with the door was made up of built in shelves that were covered with books, models, and small artifacts. His desk was to the left and on the right was a large open seating area with two low and comfortable couches that faced each other. The wall on the right side of the room was the same wood as the shelve, but now they formed panels that hid some of Seamus's supplies and equipment. The other two walls were dominated by a large corner window that let the sun stream through the room. Seamus had decorated it all in deep greens and soft browns. All the furniture and decorations were picked because they reminded Seamus of his family home in Ireland. He even had a pair of large woven blankets that his Gran had made that he kept draped over the back of each of the leather couches.

Seamus slipped his heavy woollen peacoat off and stashed it in the hidden cupboard beside the door. He pulled out his work robes, a rich deep green and gold with small bits of floral and animal embroidery, and slipped it on. The staff of the sixth and seventh floors were not required to wear the standard lime green robes of St. Mungo's unless they were in treatment or on shift in one of the wards.

Seamus settled himself behind his desk, pausing momentarily to adjust his hair in the window before doing so. Midge came in and left his coffee, his appointment list, and The Daily Prophet in front of him. Seamus could hear the dinging of the elevator as patients and the other staff began to arrive.

“Mrs. Eaton and her father are here sir.”

“Perfect, just finishing up here." Seamus looked up at Midge from his spot on the couch beside Thomas Milne and smiled. She nodded and turned to go, leaving the office doors open.

“So you’re alright?” Seamus turned back to his patient. “Anything else you need for post-transformation care?”

“I-I think I’m good.” Thomas was all of twenty-three years old. Short and wiry with messy reddish brown hair, he was barely an adult. He had been bitten five months prior and had spent his first three transformations in Seamus's observation at the hospital. This would be his first transformation in his own home.

Seamus put his hand on Thomas's shoulder and gave it an affectionate pat. “You’ll be fine, Thomas. You know what to do. And I’ll be checking in to make sure you don’t miss a day.”

Thomas let out a heavy, shuddering sigh. He was shaking a bit under Seamus's hand.

“You’ve got this. I promise. Come on, Let’s go grab you one of those biscuits from Midge's desk and I’ll get her to grab you a cup of tea before you leave .”

Seamus could see a large, scarlet flush making its way rapidly up Thomas's neck and across his cheeks at the mention of Midge's name and he smiled inwardly.

Seamus stood and led Thomas down the hall, stopping just behind the desk to wave and make a face at the young girl who was pointing excitedly out the wind to her haggard, but smiling, father.

“Mr. Eaton,”

The man turned to Seamus and smiled wearily, stooping to gather his daughter and their coats.

“Thanks, Thomas. Midge, could you grab Thomas a tea and biscuit before he leaves?”

Midge nodded, and Seamus could almost see the hint of a blush and a smile.

He turned and walked back towards his office. He picked up Thomas's file from the coffee table and brought it over to his desk, adding it to the _Outpatient_ pile. He took the top file from the daily stack and turned back to welcome Mr. Eaton and his daughter inside before shutting the door.

The girl ran over to the couch and threw herself facedown on it, spreading herself over the whole seat and giggling to herself. Seamus smiled at her and turned back to her father.

“I take it Sara's been doing well since isolation then?”

Her father smiled tiredly. “Very. She’s been a non-stop energy ever since.”

Seamus gave him a knowing smile. “That’s not uncommon, especially in someone so young.” He walked over to sit on the couch opposite Sara, who had rolled onto her back and was smiling broadly. “Hello, Sara!”

“Hi Mr. Finnigan!”

“You’ve been feeling alright since you went home last month?”

“Yeah, except the one day after my friend Robin's birthday party.”

“Oh?” Seamus flipped open the file on the table and began the appointment report. “What happened?”

“...I threw up.”

“That’s not good.” Seamus smiled, relieved. “Did Robin have a lot of sweets at the party?”

“No, but she had a big cake! It hurt my teeth.”

“Ice cream cake.” Her father offered as he sat down beside her on the couch.

“Yeah!” She nodded excitedly.

“Ah, I don’t think that’s anything to worry about then.” Seamus smiled at her. “Could be too much sugar or maybe a milk intolerance. Not something to worry about.”

He made a note in the file.

“Now Mr. Eaton-“

“You can call me Jack.” Her father corrected politely.

“Jack. Have you and Sara been using the poultice we sent home with you?”

“Yes, just like you said. Every night before bed.”

“Right before story!” Sara added.

“What story are you reading right now?” Seamus laughed.

“ _Stuart Little_!”

“I’ve never heard of it, you’ll have to lend me a copy some time!”

“Daddy reads it.”

Her father looked at her warmly and squeezed her gently. “It’s a... mog... mogul.... moggle book.” He tried to explain to Seamus.

Seamus laughed “A muggle book! Not much of an excuse for me to miss it. Only my mother was magic.” Mr. Eaton looked like he wanted to inquire further but Seamus presses on. “Okay Sara, let’s have a look at that bite and see if the poultice has been doing its job.”

The young girl swung her left leg up on the coffee table between them, pulled off her sock, and rolled up her pant leg. The faint impression of a set of large dog fangs was visible around her mid calf.

“Well that’s looking much better!” Seamus declared, reaching out to high five Sara. “You’ve been doing a great job.”

She enthusiastically returned the high five and even her father laughed.

Seamus finished a note in the file and sat back.

“Now Sara, do you know why you’re here for this appointment today?”

“Dad said I needed to get some medicine.”

“That's right. It’s the same medication you had when you stayed with us last month.”

The little girl scowled at him and made a retching sound.

“Sara, that’s very rude.” Her father scolded softly.

Seamus had to resist the urge to smile; he appreciated the unfiltered honesty of his young patients. “I remember how much you hate it, but I have a deal for you.”

Sara eyed him suspiciously.

“If you promise to be a good girl and take all of your medicine, everyday that your dad tells you to, I have a special treat he can give you.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Now if I remember correctly,” Seamus said as he stood up and went to rummage through one of the cupboards on the shelves near the door. “One of the young ladies attending you discovered that you have a particular fondness for some of our sweets.”

He pulled out a round, white and pink tin about the size a dinner plate. It was tied with a large golden ribbon that accented the gold lettering on the lid. The tin was squeaking.

The little girl gasped. “Sugar mice!”

“A whole pack of them!” Seamus rejoined them and set the tin on the table between them. “But you have to promise you’ll take all of your medicine no matter how gross it is.”

She nodded vigorously. “I promise, Mr. Finnigan.”

“And your Da’?”

She turned to her father very seriously. “I promise.”

“Good. Now, Sara, why don’t you go wait with Midge while I talk to your Dad.”

She nodded excitedly and let herself out of the room.

Seamus turned to her father. “Do you have any questions or concerns you wanted to bring up without Sara present?”

“I don’t think so. I think your team covered everything when she was discharged.”

Seamus nodded. “Her medication has been fully prepared and packaged, Midge has it ready for you and you can pick it up at her desk as you leave. There are eight bottles prepared, one for each night of the week prior to the full moon plus a spare. Each nights dosage is already measured out and she is required to drink the entire bottle, each night, for the seven days prior to the transformation. If, for any reason, you need another bottle, just come back to the hospital and speak to the welcome witch. Please bring the seven empties and the spare to your next appointment as we clean and reuse the bottles.”

Jack nodded.

Seamus checked his notes in the file again. “Please feel free to give her a sugar mouse as a reward for taking the medication, but wait at least half an hour after she has finished the potion before giving her sweets. Too soon after and the sugar can neutralize the potion.”

“That should be fine.” Jack said.

They stood and Seamus handed Jack the tin of squeaking sugar mice. “You’ve gotten through the worst of it, from here on out it’s just management.”

 _And letting scars heal._ He thought.

* * *

Neville and his Grandmother spent an hour with his parents, eating sweets and reading them books. They would be back tomorrow to open presents as they did each year on Christmas Day, but it never got any easier for them them to leave. No matter how decorated the Janus Thickey Ward was, there was no mistaking that it was a hospital and that these patients would not be leaving.

When he was younger, his Gran would take him shopping in Diagon Alley after the Christmas Eve visit. She always said it was for ‘last minute gifts’ for his great aunts and uncles, but it always ended with a stop at Flourish and Blotts. Neville would find a book, she'd buy it, he’d start reading it to his parents the next day, and then he’d spend the rest of the holidays reading it.

Now as an adult, he usually brought pictures and told stories instead. He told them about work and all the funny things that happened in his classroom. He read them bits from the textbook he was writing. He showed them pictures of James and Albus and told them how the boys were getting along in school, how well James did in transfiguration, and how Albus had yet to meet a creature he didn’t like. He showed them snapshots of the house; of Harry, Ron, Dean, and Seamus. He told them that he loved these men, that they were together, that they were a family. That they were his family. He wanted them to know.

His parents both fell asleep near the end of the visit, and his Gran sat reading silently in her chair. Neville looked around the ward at the decorations. It reminded him of the decorations they used to put up in Gryffindor tower each December. When he spent his winter break there during his seventh year, on account of students being forbidden from returning home, he and Seamus had stolen a tree and dragged it into the common room for the students to enjoy.

That Christmas had been hard. The students were almost universally sad and frightened. Seamus and Neville tried to put on brave faces, but by the time they’d get up to their dormitory each night they fall apart. Most nights Neville would fall asleep to the sound of Seamus sobbing. On bad nights he’d be awoken to Seamus screaming in his sleep, calling out desperately for Dean.

That Christmas Eve had been a very bad night.

The nightmares were getting frequent enough that Seamus was going hoarse. Neville tossed off his covers and rushed over to his bed in the dark, trying to pull the covers off as Seamus thrashed beneath. He grabbed his arms, stroking them with his thumbs and trying to soothe his friend. “Seamus, it’s Neville. You’re having a nightmare. Wake up. Please wake up.”

The thrashing stopped and Seamus' screaming quieted into sobs. He tried to apologize but he was barely intelligible through the tears.

“It’s alright, Seamus. It was just a bad dream.”

“They were torturing him!” Seamus finally managed to get out between sobs.

“It wasn’t real, Seamus.”

Seamus rolled over, facing away from Neville and continued to cry.

Neville slid into the bed behind Seamus, wrapping an arms around his chest and pulling him close. He held him tight as Seamus' heart rate returned to normal and his sobs quieted.

“I just want to know he’s alive.”

“He is.” Neville said without hesitation. “He’s on the run. The best news is no news.”

They were quiet for a long time.

“How did you know.” Seamus finally asked quietly.

“What?”

“That’s how he holds me.”

Neville was silent.

“Can- can I do something without you getting made at me?” Seamus asked quietly.

“Sure.”

There was silence. Then Seamus rolled over in Neville’s arms to face him. Their faces were close and Neville could feel Seamus' shaky breath on his chest.

Seamus reached up gently, holding Neville’s face in between his hands and leaning their foreheads together.

“Please.” He whispered. “Please be alive. I need you. I love you.”

Neville opened his mouth to respond, but stopped himself. Instead he tilted his head and kissed Seamus. It wasn’t passionate, or lustful, but it was full of love and comfort and that’s all that mattered.

The next morning, Seamus drifted awake in Neville’s arms. There was a sharp tapping at the window and Seamus opened it to find a grey and brown dappled owl sitting on the edge. There was a small note tied to its leg. Scrawled on a torn piece of paper was five simple words.

_I love you_

_marry me_

It was four years before Neville and Seamus shared a bed again. They never discussed it, but neither forgot that night. Now, when they all climbed into bed on Christmas Eve, Seamus slept soundly between Neville and Dean, the two boys who saved him when he needed it most.

* * *

Back in their school days, Christmas at The Borrow had been a crowded affair. Now; with all the Weasley spouses, partners, and grandchildren; it had begun to border on the physically impossible.

Around the time time Angeline and George had Fred, Molly decided the best thing for her sanity was a rotating schedule of helpers on Christmas Eve, followed by another rotating list of guests on Christmas Day. This year, Ron's branch of the family was to help with gift wrapping on Christmas Eve, and they would be welcomed for the dinner on Christmas Day.

Harry and Ron were sitting in the living room, gradually making their way through the large pile of gifts that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had prepared for the family. Molly sat on the couch, addressing each gift as it was passed to her and then placing it under the tree or setting it aside to be posted later. Arthur dozed in the chair near the fire.

“That’s Bill & Fleur done.” Ron said, passing a package to his mother and leaning back into a deep stretch.

“And Victoire, Dominique, and Louis?” Molly asked as she signed the package.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yes, the whole family.”

Harry sat up, trying to crack his back. “And I’ve finished Charlie, Percy, and George &Angelina.”

“And...” Molly trailed off.

“Yes, I got Fred too.”

Molly nodded. Harry and Ron could see the tightness in her throat.

“Mum, would you like me to make you some tea?” Ron reached out and took her hand.

“That would be lovely, dear.” Molly put the quill down and leaned back into the couch, blinking fast to stave off any tears.

Ron moved to stand, but Harry stopped him. “I’ll grab it.”

Ron and his mother sat in silence as a Harry headed into the kitchen.

“Every year. Every year I think I’ll be fine.” Molly took deep, shaky breath. “But I never am.”

Ron took her hand and squeezed it. “None of us are.”

Molly nodded and gave a small smile. “Did I tell you George and I decided to give him Fred’s old jumpers when he starts at Hogwarts? The ones he got while he was there at least. I’m going to keep the ones from before.”

“That sounds like a great idea.”

Molly nodded, tears welling in her eyes again. She took another deep, shaky breath and sat up.

“How are you boys handling not having James or Albus around this Christmas?”

Ron sighed. “Harry’s being a sport about it, but we all know it’s bothering him. Dean caught him in their room the other day, getting the beds ready. And he got snappy when Nev got Albus's presents ready to send with Andrew.”

Molly chuckled. “That first Christmas apart is always hard. At least James will be back tomorrow morning.”

Ron smiled. “Yeah, Parvati says Gin has been getting antsy about the house being too empty for it to be Christmas.”

His mother squeezed his hand. “Well don’t rush him off to her. She may be his mother, but you’re as much his father as Harry is.”

Ron scoffed. “Don’t let Ginny heat you say that.”

“Ronald. There’s not a finite amount of love that children can receive, just as there is not a finite amount of love that you can give. You of all people should know that.”

Ron was silent for a second, and then he nodded and hugged his mother. Harry stood in the doorway, watching them with a smile.

* * *

That night, the men enjoyed a quiet early dinner. Afterwards, they retired to the living room where Seamus and Dean argued playfully about which muggle Christmas film to watch. They sipped cocoa, and gleefully ate the cookies Dean had baked. The tree was set up, and all of them had brought their presents down, ready to open tomorrow morning as soon and James has arrived home.

At 10:45 on the dot, there was a quiet knock at the door. Neville answered, smiling broadly and ushering Viktor and Hermione into the house. He took Viktor’s coat, pushing a cookie and steaming mug into his hand.

He smiled at Hermione, “See you in a bit.” And lead her husband off to join them in front of the TV.

Ron and Harry grabbed their coats, and Hermione joined them at the back door.

They walked out into the night, snow crunching under their feet as they made their way down to the snowy beach.

The night was clear and cold. They stopped, turning to face each other, their faces mirroring sad smiles.

Harry reached out and took each of their hands, giving them a squeeze.

“Thank you.”

Ron and Hermione squeezed back, joining their own hands. “Always.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “Ready.”

Ron and Harry nodded, closing their eyes tight. Hermione did the same and spun, turning into the enveloping blackness.

They opened their eyes to the now familiar village. They were standing hand in hand in the same snowy lane that Harry and Hermione had originally stood seventeen years ago, under a dark blue sky gleaming with stars. The cottages on either side of the narrow road had their decorations twinkling in the windows. A short way ahead of them, the glow of golden streetlights lead toward the centre of the village.

They made their way unhampered, the icy air stinging their faces as they passed more cottages.

The little lane along which they were walking curved to the left and lead into the heart of the village, strung all around with lights. Villagers were crisscrossing in front of them, their figures briefly illuminated by street lamps. They heard a snatch of laughter and pop music as the pub door opened and closed; followed by a carol from inside the church.

They crossed the square, stopping just for a moment for Harry to reach out and touch the stone hands of his parents before they moved on.

The singing grew louder as they approached the church. Every year it reminded the three of them of Hogwarts, of Peeves bellowing rude versions of carols from inside suits of armour, of the Great Hall’s twelve Christmas trees, of Dumbledore wearing a bonnet he had won in a cracker, of Weasleys inhand-knitted jumpers…

Hermione lead the way as she did every year, pushing the kissing gate that lead into the cemetery open as quietly as possible. On either side of the slippery path to the church doors the snow was neat and shovelled. Sixteen years ago the church had received a large anonymous donation, they only request it included was for some of the funds to go toward a caretaker for the grounds.

They passed by the brilliant windows, letting the coloured light play across the graveyard. Row upon row of snowy tombstones flecked with dazzling red, gold and green wherever the reflections from the stained glass hit the snow.

They passed the graves of Kendra and Arian Dumbledore, and made their way back towards the white marble headstone.

_James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981_

_Lily Potter, born 30 January 1960, died 31 October 1981_

-

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._

Harry knelt down, tears coming easily even after all these years. He brushed the remaining snow off of the tombstone and held his hand on it in silence. Ron reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

Hermione raised her wand, moved it in a circle through the air and a wreath of Christmas roses blossomed before them. Harry caught it and laid it on his parents’ grave.

After several minutes, he stood. Taking the hands of his two best friends, they turned in silence and walked back through the snow, past Dumbledore’s mother and sister, back towards the brightly lit church and the out-of-sight kissing gate.

* * *

_In the bleak midwinter frosty winds made moan._

_Earth stood hard as iron. Water like a stone._

_If I were a wise man, would I do my part?_

_Yet what can I give him? I give my heart._

**Author's Note:**

> A year ago I had an idea for a story as I was lying in bed on Christmas Eve. One of my absolute favourite scenes in the books is the Christmas Eve visit to Godric’s Hollow. I think it masterfully showed both the depth of love shared by Harry and his friends, as well as the true depth of the trauma Harry experienced. When it was adapted for the film, Alexandre Desplat & Gerard McCann wrote a gorgeous original Christmas carol, “My Love is Always Here”, that is sung by the church choir as Harry visits his parents grave for the first time. When I first read the book, the carol I was reminded of was “In the Bleak Midwinter”. Last year, I was hearing it over and over in my head, replaying and refusing to leave until it finally clicked. I have tried to capture the feeling of the song with this story: winter, sadness, loneliness, desolation, struggle, joy, togetherness, kindness, selflessness, and love. For after the winter comes the spring.


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